Excerpt - Not His Kiss to Take

Here's an excerpt from Not His Kiss to Take:

“This is a stupid game.” And kinda boring. Jamie slouched over
the table, feeling miserable with an upset stomach he was never gonna admit having.
Doctor Twisted-As-Fuck, sitting across the table and looking particularly smug,
probably knew ten painful and undoubtedly embarrassing treatments for it. “Stupid,”
he mumbled.

“It is not,” Evan argued. Lord, the man
loved to argue, like it was a second language or something. “Chess is the
greatest game ever invented.”

Slouching further, Jamie rolled his eyes.
“It’s boring. Nothing ever happens! You just move a bunch of pieces around the
board. You can’t even shoot anyone. What fun is that?” At least bugging the doc
provided some amusement. When Evan relaxed, he was great company. That was also
when his wicked sense of humor came out to play.

Evan gave him one of his best smiles, the
kind that lit up his whole face. “You sure you want to? You’re actually doing
pretty good this time. Look, you’ve still got your queen.”

That’s
good? Maybe if you
called not getting checkmated in less than five minutes good. “Yeah, I’m sure. Before I fall into a coma from the boredom
of losing to you repeatedly.” He tipped over his king and dramatically fell
across the table in defeat. “You win.” Jamie propped his head on his arm. “Again.”

Better than bugging the doctor was
hearing him laugh. Looked like he didn’t do it often enough, if you asked him. Jamie’d
have to think of more ways to draw him out. When he felt better.

“You hungry? Want some hot chocolate or
something?”

Sighing heavily, Jamie answered with, “Maybe
some hot chocolate.” Better to agree to something fast before he ended up with
another plateful of those quinoa-flour cookies—nasty, oh goddamn. Tasted like dusty
cardboard ripped from the floor of somebody’s smelly garage. But Evan’s
homemade hot chocolate was to die for. “Thanks,” he said as Evan moved to make a
fresh batch, leaving him to put away that horrid game that was possibly less
entertaining than watching paint dry.

The way Evan constantly tried to stuff
food into him drove Jamie nuts. Maybe he thinks
I’m a skinny runt or something. Or he thinks he’s papa bird. Except most of
the food wasn’t quite fit for human consumption and he should know, since he’d
worked in many a restaurant and seen what they dished out to unsuspecting
diners. They ate strange things—some with unpronounceable names—that goats couldn’t
gnaw through. Most of it tasted okay ’cause Evan could actually cook, but
Christ, no wonder his stomach hurt. Too much organic love going on—his guts weren’t
used to it. Mac and cheese made up one of the four food groups, but Evan just
had to go and ruin his using whole wheat pasta. Gag.

Not only was Evan a little pervy—okay, a
lot pervy—he was also weird. Sunny skies meant keeping the blinds closed. What
the fuck? They never saw the sun as it was in winter. If anything had a perfume
or scent to it, it had to be all natural, essential oils and all that crap. Everything
was organic, including the laundry soap, which, bizarrely, Evan made himself. And
the man never went anywhere unless he absolutely had to and planned it out with
military precision beforehand. No wonder he beat Jamie’s ass so fast at chess.

Kinda made him sad to think that Evan
lived in fear of things like bright sunshine and food additives, all because he
had a headache that never ended. Jamie couldn’t imagine enduring that for years.
Years! Not that he wanted to go
anywhere either right now. It’s not safe
out there…

“…fucking
cocksucker…”

They’d talked, that day after. Evan said
he could stay as long as he wanted—and how Jamie wanted, with a desperation he
hated to admit even to himself. Cocooned in Evan’s sheltered nest, he felt
safe.

It had been just a week since…it
happened. Remembering that night caused him to sweat profusely and feel all
weird inside, so he tried very hard not to think about it. I couldn’t even fight back. Didn’t mean snippets of darkness didn’t
sometimes catch him unawares. Nighttime was the worst. Evan always caught him
freaking out. Christ, did the man sleep with one eye open?

But he’d sleep better tonight. Last night,
after Jamie had woken Evan at three a.m. by knocking the lamp off the night
table, the doc had removed the bandage from around his ribs. They’d only been
bruised, he confirmed, not broken. Thank God. His lip felt better too, and so
did the inside of his mouth where he’d gnashed the shit out of it with his
teeth—that one guy who’d hit him, the one who’d given him the concussion, he’d had…big fucking fists.

“Like
that, faggot…”

Of course, Evan had a yucky mouthwash for
fixing sore mouths too. And Jamie could breathe through his nose again. Best of
all, Evan removed all but one of the funny bandages on Jamie’s temple, and it
no longer felt like his eyebrow was glued to his forehead.

But down below?

Still sore. Jamie adjusted his slouch,
easing the pressure against tender, healing flesh. Dr. Horny-pants wanted him
to see some specialist friend of his. Yay, a penis doctor. Probably cost
thousands just to walk through the door and get eye-bleed from the crappy
artwork…but…? Yeah, but. Can’t afford it. And Evan says it looks okay
to him.

And
I trust Evan, even if he gets a hard-on every time he touches me, the sicko.

Evidently, whipped cream came in an
organic variety. His cup fairly sloshed with heaps of it as Evan set the mug
down in front of him. Dark chocolate and sweetness exploded on his tongue as he
took the first sip. Delicious, delightful empty calories—yum. “This is really
good,” he said with a groan of contentment.

“Thanks,” Evan said. “Dark chocolate can
be healthy in moderation.”

“Yeah?” Jamie teased. “Would that be
before or after that addition of half a cup of sugar?”

Sheesh. How could the guy blush over getting
caught falling for the evils of sugar and yet act like having catheters lying
around for kinky sex games was nothing? “Um…” Evan said.

Though the kitchen sparkled, Evan tidied
anyway, putting the chess set away in a cupboard where it would hopefully stay.
Jamie was starting to think the cleaning thing wasn’t because Evan was a neat freak;
he did it because he needed to fill up empty hours with something and scrubbed madly
out of habit. Not that Jamie would ever ask why Evan never had company. Didn’t
take a genius to notice how lonely Evan was—how alone.

Evan’s house—the penthouse, because the doc
was obviously rich as shit—was the nicest home Jamie had ever been in. The
kitchen alone was bigger than his entire rental and was, by far, his favorite room.
Slate, carved wood, warm copper—Jamie loved it all. It had its own gas
fireplace, for Pete’s sake. Not the kind of decor you’d expect from someone
like Evan. Meeting him, you’d imagine stainless steel, white paint, and cold
sterility.

Evan was like…two separate people crammed
into one body. Hot and cold. Prim and
proper and break the kink-o-meter. Jamie’d admit to being fascinated. He’d
never met anyone like Evan Harrison. And he found himself getting fascinated
all over again watching him move around the kitchen, all that grace and power, that
steely confidence. Everything he was not. Then his stomach grumbled.

“You feeling okay?” Evan asked.

Shit. The guy had frickin’ eyes in the back of
his head and ears like a bat. “Just
not used to all this health-food stuff.” Admitting anything was gonna cost him,
but Evan seemed concerned. Couldn’t repay that kindness with a lie. “Upsets my
stomach.”

“And those pills you gave me…” But he
hadn’t had any of those in days, and even then, he’d only had a few. Junkie doc
was actually kinda stingy with the drugs. What the hell was with that? Never
did get along with Oxy-whatever anyway.

“Ah,” Evan said.

Oh crap. How could one little word be so
scary? “I’ll be fine,” he hastily added.

“You want something for it?”

Groaning, Jamie rested his head on his
arm and continued slouching. “No thanks.”

Still watching him, Evan sipped his cocoa.
Made him squirm in his seat. “You know…” Evan began.

Shit.
Here comes the bullet.

“I’ve taken those pills myself. They’re quite
constipating.”

Decidedly cranky, Jamie wasn’t feeling
charitable. “So’s that cement you made those cookies out of.”

For a second, Jamie thought he’d gone too
far. But then Evan’s eyes sparkled. They always did before he smiled. He
grinned hugely. “They are kinda dry. They really do need chocolate chips.”

“Then they’ll be perfect,” Jamie lied.

“Your mama never washed your mouth out
with soap for lying, did she?”

“Nope. Neither did the hundred different
babysitters.”

“Hundred babysitters?” Evan looked
positively scandalized.

“My mom works—worked—all the time. Since
my dad split and never paid a penny of support, she had to. I hope he’s rotting
someplace unpleasant.” Jamie scowled. “With lots of roaches. And honkin’ big
mosquitoes drilling him full of deadly diseases.” Jamie barely remembered his
father, and what he remembered had long since been tainted by his grown-up knowledge
that he’d been abandoned by his deadbeat dad. Probably why I can’t stand Derek. Two of a kind. When ya gonna smarten
up, Mom?

“Sorry. About your dad.”

“S’all right. I don’t even miss him
anymore.” But he did.

For a moment, Evan just sat and watched
him. Such kind eyes. When was the last time someone looked at him like that,
like he was worth something? “Wanna watch a movie?” Evan asked, breaking the
spell. “We could finish Planet Earth.
I think we left off somewhere on the way to China.”

Maybe it was Evan’s ginormous TV, or
maybe it was the stunning scenery in every episode, but Jamie loved that series.
They’d been watching it for days, especially when he’d been too sore to move
farther than from the couch to the guest bed and back, and had been looking
forward to the China episode in particular. “I’d love to go there someday. China,
I mean. I really wanna see the Great Wall. I’ve only ever blown the shit out of
it in a video game.”

“It’s fantastic,” Evan said.

“What? You’ve been there?”

“Yes. I went with my parents when I
finished high school. Grad present for finishing early.”

Lucky bastard.“Got any pictures?”

Like he’d just said magic words, Evan’s
eyes lit right up. “Many.”

Most people would probably be rolling
their eyes about now, but not Jamie. Checking out pictures of faraway places
with the person who took them was a rare treat. “Let’s watch the show first;
then you can show me your secret stash of vacation pics.” Would be interesting
to see where he’d been, plus he secretly hoped to find out what Evan looked
like as a teenager. “Please tell me you were tall and geeky and had zits and
braces in school, just like everyone else.”

“Well, I was tall.”

“I hate you, Evan.”

“Come on, angel. I have boxes of pictures
to show you. Plusdigital.”

“Cool.”

“I wrote notes on the back of all of them
too.”

Realizing what he’d gotten himself into,
Jamie groaned. “You’re a nerd, Evan. You don’t look it, but you’re just a
closet nerd without the thick glasses. I bet you have a pocket protector and
everything.”

Not arguing his accusation at all, Evan
grinned. “Yup. But even nerds can do stupid things. If you do go there one day,
remember this: no matter what anyone tells you, no matter how curious you are,
do not get it in your head to try eating dog meat.” Evan shuddered visibly. “I
have never been so ill in my life.”

“That’s what my dad said. Dog meat on a
stick—don’t do it. I haven’t been able to eat souvlaki ever since. Anytime I
see lamb on a stick, I get these horrible flashbacks of me projectile vomiting.
Ugh. But that could have been from the vile stuff the Chinese naturopath poured
down my throat in between the bouts of violent puking and the burning diarrhea.
My memory’s kinda hazy on the subject. And if you get sick, don’t trust village
doctors over there either.” Evan cocked his head. “Come to think of it, I’m not
even sure he was a doctor.”

Déjà
vu. Jamie’d harbored the
same suspicions about Evan at first. Don’t
say it. Don’t. But it was so very tempting to tease Dr. Perv-a-Lot. Easy pickings. Jamie refrained. Over the
past couple of days, he’d gotten the sneaking suspicion that not being able to
practice medicine ate away at Evan’s soul, that he’d lost something that meant
a great deal to him. Maybe everything. “Come on then, Doc. I can’t wait to see the
pictures of whatever back-alley dive served you someone’s pet Fido on a stick. Or
did you buy your barbecued puppy from some doggy—pardon me, I meant dodgy—street vendor? Off the back of a truck? Or
was it one of those carriage things? What do they call ’em, rickshaws?”

Evan managed to swat him on the ass
before he leapt out of the way. “You’ve got a smart mouth, boy. And you swear
too much. I should do what your mama failed to do and soap out your filthy
mouth.”

Fortunately, Jamie was quicker, and,
after a few sock-slippery spins around the kitchen, Evan gave up trying to wash
his mouth out with his minty-good, fair-trade organic soap. But it was close. Could’ve
been dessert.

Notes on the back or not, Jamie enjoyed thumbing
through all of Evan’s photos and watching the videos. They were filed in order,
by date. Catalogued and in pristine condition. Saved in folders by date and
location. Yup. A total nerd. Nice looking, but still a nerd. Jamie wasn’t sure
he’d outgrown that gangly stage yet and felt self-conscious about his body
compared to Evan’s Pilates-toned bod. I
hate being small and skinny. And…pretty. I should probably ask Evan what a
twink is.

From the photos it was obvious Evan had gotten
his looks from his dad, especially that stern expression Jamie loathed. His
parents didn’t look like very warm people. No wonder Evan had rebelled, scaring
the crap out of them doing every wild thing he could conceive of on their
lengthy trip: whitewater rafting (he fell out and almost drowned); climbing up a
cliff face strapped in a flimsy-looking rope harness (goaded by the locals, he
admitted); and eating roasted puppies on a skewer (and no stinking picture of
that, damn it).

No comments:

Post a Comment

About Me

I'm a writer of erotic paranormal romance (GLBT), a mother of two and servant to a dog and a pair of demanding cats. I'd love to stay home all day and either write novels or read them, but alas, the Evil Day Job keeps me busy (and with a roof over my head). Since I'm scared to touch my website (and my web manager thanks me) I've created this blog to provide updates on my Works In Progress.